


A Lot to Live Up To

by fizzfooz



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:03:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2953334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzfooz/pseuds/fizzfooz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young wildboy Sebastian takes a liking to Warden Blackwall. Blackwall tries to remain chivalrous in the face of Sebastian's many charms.</p><p>SPOILERS for Blackwall's personal quest.</p><p>Concrit is always welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

“You're a Grey Warden.”

Blackwell tensed, and wondered if that would ever stop sounding like an accusation. He pushed his paranoia aside. Not accusatory. In fact, it sounded like... Hero worship. Fan-fucking-tastic. A young lad stood watching him owlishly. In disguise, if Blackwall was any judge. Not a very good one. To make a convincing peasant he should have had some holes in his boots. Less furs and gloves against the bitter Starkhaven winter. Probably a young noble looking to rebel against his rich parents. The Chantry was an odd place for that, but a safe one. The lad looked about fifteen. The very age where living a life of luxury would start to chafe, until he was old enough to realise that the alternative wasn't as much fun as he believed.

Blackwall ignored him. If the Maker was real, if by some miracle he listened to people like Blackwall, he wanted to get his apologies in early. And alone.

The lad wasn't put out. He slid beside Blackwall on the pew, so close their hips touched. “Why are you praying?” he asked.

The question startled a laugh out of Blackwall. “Why does anyone pray?”

The lad bristled. “That's what I meant. Why pray? It doesn't solve anything. You can pray and pray and pray and nothing ever changes.”

“Bold words inside a Chantry.”

The lad smiled, pinching the corner of his bottom lip with his teeth. “I can be bolder,” he said. He placed a gloved hand on Blackwell's thigh. If the lad wasn't so young, with a soft jaw and soft curls at the end of his hair, innocence in those big blue eyes despite what he was offering, Blackwall might have been tempted. Even if he was old enough, Blackwall knew how these dalliances ended. With Blackwall getting strung up by some milksop nobleman for corrupting his precious son. Blackwall removed the hand on his thigh.

“What kind of dirty old bastard do you think I am?” Blackwall said.

“It's not dirty if I'm offering.” The way he said that made Blackwall wonder if he was even younger than he'd first thought, defensive and a bit hurt. “I want to.”

“I don't. Find another way to piss off your parents.”

Blackwall had hit a nerve, by the way the lad reeled away. “They don't care what I do,” he said, and scurried out of the Chantry.

****

The lad came back the next day. Uncanny how he knew when Blackwall would be there. The Chantry was busier this time, the faithful still milling around after a service. He perched on the pew beside Blackwall, although not so close as he had been yesterday. Blackwall ignored him. There were more important things to think about. He'd chosen Starkhaven because although the Grey Warden presence was negligible these days, the order was still respected here. The story was that he was recruiting from the city whose denizens had once ended a Blight, but it wouldn't hold up for more than a month or two.

“How many Darkspawn have you killed?” the lad asked. Apparently all was forgiven. The hero worship was back.

This time, Blackwall didn't answer. He bowed his head and pretended to pray. _You can pray and pray and pray and nothing ever changes._ How right he was. Blackwall prayed – heh – the lad never discovered how abandoned he could really feel.

“I said,” the lad said, more loudly. “How many Darkspawn have you killed?”

“My fair share,” Blackwall said. Loathe as he was to give in to the brat, a few Chantry sisters had looked over at the raised voice. The lad was definitely a noble. Someone used to his voice being heard.

His answer seemed to disappoint the lad. His expression screamed that Blackwall was a much less heroic Grey Warden than he'd expected. If only he knew.

“But how many?”

“A few dozen,” Blackwall said.

That caused the lad's scowl to deepen. “Are you new?”

Blackwall chuckled. “What've you been filling your head with? I'm only one man.”

“It's only one man who kills the archdemon,” the lad said. “Or one woman.” The lad peered at Blackwall, scrutinising every inch of him. “Have you ever seen an archdemon?”

Despite himself, Blackwall chuckled again. “How old do you think I am? There's been no blight since decades before I was born.”

“I don't think you're old. I think you're...” The lad gave him a coy, sidelong glance that Blackwall was sure he must have perfected in front of a mirror. “People my age don't know what they're doing.”

“Too right.” Maybe Blackwall should hang around in a tavern rather than a chantry.

“Can I touch your beard?”

“No.” Blackwall shuffled further away. “You can't.” There'd be absolutely no touching of his beard or any of his other hairy parts until the lad was old enough to grow a beard of his own.

“It's only your beard, not your cock.”

Blackwall looked up sharply. Thankfully, it didn't look like anyone had heard the lad say cock in the chantry but Blackwall. Lucky him.

“You wouldn't let me touch that either,” the lad said, as if he'd been denied the last slice of fish and egg pie. “And I've never seen one so big. Your beard, I mean.”

 _Maker's balls._ “Keep your hands to yourself. You'll make more friends that way.”

The lad relented. “Have you ever been bitten by a Darkspawn?”

At least that one Blackwall could answer truthfully. “No.”

“What are they like up close?”

“Imagine the worst thing you can think of. Worse than that.”

The lad considered that for a while, then; “I heard you were looking for recruits.”

Blackwall had a ready-made excuse for that one. “The Grey Wardens don't recruit children.”

Blackwall snorted. “Me too. I've aged badly.”

The lad studied Blackwall, as if to see whether it was worth pressing the issue. “I'll be eighteen soon.”

“When most people say soon, lad, they mean in a couple of weeks. Not in a few years.”

“Most people _want_ to believe I'm eighteen.”

 _I bet they do._ Blackwall gave the lad a quick once-over. He looked rougher around the edges than he had when they'd last spoke. Dark circles under his eyes. Blackwall remembered the hand on his thigh. Made him queasy to think where the lad might have ended up after he'd ran off. If he'd tried that on someone even more dreadful than Blackwall... “Are you...? You haven't gotten into any trouble, have you?”

“Only if being sandwiched between two barmaids counts as trouble.” The lad looked far too pleased with himself for that to be a lie. Maker's balls, how had the lad managed to step into a chantry without bursting into flames? Though come to think of it, two barmaids didn't sound a bad idea. Or three. Drink alone wasn't helping Blackwall sleep any easier. Maybe drink and a few tumbles would.

“What do I call you, lad?”

“Thom.”

Blackwall curbed his reaction, contained it to a couple of slow blinks. He, of all people, knew a fake name when he heard it. But why that one? Of all the names in Thedas, why that one?

“What's your name?” the lad asked, oblivious.

“Empress Celene. I've let myself go.”

The lad gave him a sour look. “What's your real name?”

“Same to you.”

The lad sighed. “Sebastian.”

That sounded like the truth. Shame Blackwall had to answer it with a lie. “Blackwall.”

The lad – Sebastian – slid closer. He gave Blackwall the look that must have gotten him under those barmaid's skirts. All big too-blue eyes and the beginnings of a smile. “Being a warden must be stressful.”

It was a relief that the look, and the attempt at a sultry voice, filled Blackwall with nothing but second-hand embarrassment. At least he'd never fall so far that interfering with a child seemed like a good idea. “Some advice, lad.”

“I didn't ask you for your advice,” Sebastian said, haughty as a duchess.

“Tough. You've got a home to go to. Go to it.”

“You don't know--”

Blackwall raised a hand to silence him. “You've had a falling out with your parents and want to run wild and worry them sick.” Sebastian looked at him as if he was reading his mind. Teenagers always thought their problems were so unique. “But I'm telling you, it's not as bad as all that.”

“You know nothing about me, or them.” Sebastian looked close to tears, voice hoarse. At that age, everything seemed far more serious than it was. Maker, what Blackwall would give for being angry at his mum and dad to be his only problem.

“I know when you get to my age you won't remember why you ran away, you'll just remember that you did. And you'll feel stupid.”

“I've heard all this before. But you're all wrong. My parents aren't worried about me. They're not out looking for me. They're not even sparing a copper to pay someone to look for me. They'll scarcely even notice I'm gone.”

Well, no one could say Blackwall hadn't tried. If Sebastian was determined to stay a selfish brat, then so be it. But... Blackwall looked at Sebastian's sad little face. The real Blackwall wouldn't have left it at that. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

“I'm never short of a bed.”

That didn't sit right. Even a city as sparkly as Starkhaven had its fair share of grubby bastards.”I've a room in the tavern round the corner.”

Sebastian looked far too eager.

“For sleeping in,” Blackwall said, stern as he could manage. “Try anything but sleeping and you'll be out on your ear.”

*****

The room in the tavern was tiny, but Blackwall let Sebastian have the bed. The brat didn't even make a token protest, just got himself nice and comfy while Blackwall tried to find a floorboard that didn't squeak to settle on. He must have eventually drifted off, because the next thing he knew he was woken in the pitch black by Sebastian curling up against him. Blackwall stayed stock still, afraid any movement might look like encouragement. But it didn't look like Sebastian was after anything sexual. He rested his head on Blackwall's shoulder and cuddled into him like he was a huge, hairy teddybear. That's all this was, then? An attention-starved young noble looking for some affection?

_My parents aren't worried about me._

Sebastian's breath hitched when Blackwall chuckled. Sebastian turned rigid against him. “I thought you were asleep,” Sebastian said, as if Blackwall had caught him pissing in the chantry's offering bowl.

“It's all right,” Blackwall said. “Nothing wrong with wanting a cuddle.”

Blackwall pulled Sebastian in for the hug his dad should have given him, before he got into his head that running off and coming onto old men was the answer. And maybe the hug Blackwall needed to give. To show he could still help people, in some paltry way.

Sebastian fell asleep snuggled into his chest.

*****

Blackwall woke with Sebastian on top of him, still clinging, and an ache in his back. He lifted Sebastian carefully and tucked him into bed. It was time for him to move on. To make sure Sebastian didn't get himself into more trouble, Blackwall paid up the room for another few days before he left Starkhaven altogether.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Blackwall's next trip to Starkhaven came three years and many cities later. He'd enjoyed his travels but Starkhaven was one of the few where he could live the warden lie without fear of the real wardens showing up to bring him back to the fold. The central district was even shinier than he remembered thanks to some birthday celebration for one of the royals. Gold bunting everywhere. The cost of that alone could have fed a family for a week. But that was why he was here, wasn't it? He'd coped with dives for years, enjoyed them even, but sometimes a man got a hankering for ale that wasn't one quart rat's piss.

With that in mind, he took his coin to one if the bunting-bedecked taverns and bought the best ale he could afford. Which was to say, the worst the tavern offered. A group of giggling young girls were on the table to his left. The sight of them made him smile into his mug. Some lucky sod was draped in them. The giggles turned to squeals when they were unseated.

A much finer bottle of beer was placed in front of Blackwall, the liquid inside as gold as the bunting. “We can't have a Grey Warden drinking swill,” a Starkhaven-accented voice said.

Blackwall looked up. A boy – no, not a boy anymore. He was square-jawed and broad-chested now. Only a little rangy with youth. Blackwall remembered the too-blue eyes and unusual red-brown hair.

“Sebastian?”

“Sh,” Sebastian said. He gave a conspiratorial wink. “Today it's William.”

Blackwall glanced at the group of pouting girls. “Don't you have better company you could be keeping?”

“Better than a real-life hero?” Sebastian sounded flippant, this time, but the hero-worship was still there underneath. The sight of it made Blackwall itch. Sebastian stared at him with an odd, cat-like intensity. “Besides, I owe you a debt.”

“You owe me nothing.”

“I owe you some coin at least.”

“I don't remember winning a bet.”

Sebastian just continued to smile and watch. “For the tavern.”

Blackwall poured himself a drink from the bottle Sebastian had presented him with. Just the smell made his mouth water. “This more than makes up for that.”

“As you wish.”

Blackwall sipped his drink. No wonder Sebastian had called his first drink swill. This one had a flavour he actually wanted to savour. He held it in his mouth. It burned pleasantly when he swallowed. Sebastian seemed content to linger, watching him drink with that same smile on his face. Blackwall took another drink while he pondered the best way to communicate that while the drink was welcome, the company of some young fop wasn't. At least Sebastian had gotten better at disguising himself. The tunic and breeches were passably shabby – if a bit too form-fitting to be practical – and he had a bow and quiver slung over his back. Paying far too close attention to every one of Blackwall's movements. It would be unnerving from anyone Blackwall thought of as a threat.

“So whose birthday is it?” Blackwall asked, hoping some small-talk would stop the Maker-damned staring.

Sebastian's gaze fell to the table. The lad didn't even have a drink to distract him from whatever it was he found so fascinating about Blackwall. “The eldest son of the Vael family,” Sebastian said, with unexpected bitterness. “The heir.”

Blackwall took another drink, and didn't ask. He almost poured one for Sebastian too, he looked so discomfited, before thinking better of it. He wanted to get rid of him, not encourage him. Sebastian leaned across the table like they were sharing a secret. One of his hands disappeared underneath. Blackwall grunted in surprise when Sebastian squeezed his thigh.

“I am very grateful,” Sebastian said, in a low burr. That accent was criminal.

Blackwall shifted his hair, so Sebastian's hand fell away. Blackwall's flings were shamefully rare these days, and usually with women, but it would be a lie to say he wasn't tempted. The first time he'd met Sebastian he was a fragile little thing. Now he looked like he could handle some rough-housing. Temptation was where it would end, however. That hug was a good memory. One time he'd done the right thing, and expected nothing in return. Taking Sebastian's body now would wipe all of that away.

“Take your gratitude where it's appreciated,” Blackwall said, and nodded toward the girls.

Sebastian flashed him a grin, and stood up. “I hope you enjoy your stay in Starkhaven, Warden Blackwall.”

*****

Apparently for royals a birthday wasn't just one day where you got older. It was a week-long celebration, full of events. Market stalls had been set up among the fancy statues selling booze and Starkhaven delicacies. There was a wine-tasting and tiny cheeses, which seemed rather Orlesian to Blackwall. The next day there was a jousting competition. Not a real one, of course, but watching nobles get knocked ff their horses sounded like a fine time to Blackwall. And Blackwall won a couple of bets, which made the whole thing much more entertaining. Wherever he went and whatever he did, Sebastian would be on the edge of his vision, staring at him. He never knew the sight of him gorging himself on every piece of food the market stalls had to offer was so arresting. By day, Blackwall participated in the festivities. By night, he drank.

Trouble was, he wasn't the only one drinking. Nor was he the only one using the prince's birthday as an excuse to overindulge.

Sebastian was staggering around the tavern. No girls hung off him, this time. He was so drunk he'd be useless to a woman. He could barely walk, kept bumping into tables and glaring at them. As much as Blackwall tried to ignore him, his soldier's instincts couldn't ignore the group of men in the corner of the bar keeping an eye on Sebastian. Blackwall saw a stupid and drunk young lad, but he could tell by the expressions that they saw an easy mark. _Stupid bloody fop._ He'd probably been flashing his coin around, drinking too-expensive alcohol to impress girls.

Sebastian somehow made it to the door of the tavern, knocking over a few chairs that were in his path. The men rose too, exchanging nods. They were armed and armoured like mercs. Blackwall sighed and went after them.

Sebastian went through an alley, because of course he did. Walking through the thronged streets would be far too sensible. The mercs followed, and so did Blackwall. He touched his hand to his sword, ready to draw. Something that turned out to be unnecessary. The instant Blackwall stepped into the alley, he saw Sebastian dispatch two of the mercs with a couple of loosed arrows. The third he pinned to the wall with another arrow to the shoulder.

Blackwall closed his mouth, which had been hanging open. Maker's balls, he probably looked more startled than the one surviving merc. Sebastian walked slowly over to the man he had pinned, notching another arrow. Blackwall tried to back out of the alley, but the sound of his footsteps made Sebastian and his arrow turn on him.

“It's me,” Blackwall said, stepping further into the alley instead, both hands up.

“Warden Blackwall?” Sebastian said. There was no awkwardness to his movements. No fogginess to his gaze. He was stone cold sober, and his little pantomime earlier had even managed to fool Blackwall. Not just a fop then. Or a bored nobleman looking for a bit of rough. Those arrows had been expertly deployed. “Give me a moment.”

Sebastian turned his arrow back on the merc.

“You!” the merc said. Apparently he was talking to Blackwall. “Get that bow off him. There's good money in it.”

“Not a chance,” Blackwall said. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, waiting to see what Sebastian would do.

Sebastian rifled through the merc's pocket until he found a sheath of papers. He put an arrow through the merc's eye, almost absently, after taking a glance. Sebastian tried to stuff the papers into his own pocket. Blackwall plucked them from his grasp and read, ' _A Princely Sum – The youngest Vael has been seen drinking and whoring in the city. His family would pay a handsme ransom if he were to be taken unharmed._ ' The youngest Vael? Blackwall gaped at Sebastian as he snatched the papers back.

“You're a prince?”

“No, I'm markedly not a prince,” Sebastian said. “Prince implies a place in the line of succession. And yet these mercenaries keep coming after me. Little do they know that my father would be unlikely to scrape together two coppers for my return.”

Blackwall had a royal hand on his thigh! He didn't know whether to feel proud or dirty. “How does a prince learn to fight like that?”

“My father thought getting me a hobby would keep me out of trouble.” Sebastian grinned, ducking down to retrieve his arrows from the corpses of the mercs. “He didn't really think it through. And I'm no prince. That's my brother. It's his birthday. You might have noticed.”

Blackwall watched him inspect the bloody tips of his arrows. A pretty young noble with no substance would have been easy to ignore. A skilled archer who could take down three trained men single-handedly? Sebastian looked up at him, still on his knees, like he knew exactly what Blackwall was thinking.

“Are you all right, Warden Blackwall?”

Maker, those eyes and that voice. “Over here,” Blackwall said, his own voice gruff. Sebastian shuffled over, still on his knees. Obedient but for the small smirk on his lips. Blackwall knew how to wipe that off. He grabbed a fistful of Sebastian's hair and mashed his face into his crotch. Sebastian didn't give even token resistance. Sebastian moaned, hot breath gusting and his hot voice rumbling against Blackwall's hardening cock. Sebastian made quick work of the laces of Blackwall's breeches, all small needy sounds and fast fingers.

Blackwall kept his grasp on Sebastian's hair, grip tightening and loosening as Sebastian sucked the tip of his cock into his mouth. “Maker... _Fuck_...” Sebastian took more and more of him in, until Blackwall was buried down his throat. Sebastian's moans were downright gluttonous. Blackwell couldn't just hear them, he could feel them shooting through every nerve in his body. Blackwall started to pump his hips, slamming into Sebastian's grasping throat. Sebastian responded with lengthy groans. Blackwall could just see his arm pumping away, pleasuring himself as he pleasured Blackwall. The pressure in Blackwall's groin built and built.

Blackwall yanked him back, off his cock. They were still connected by a trail of spit, Sebastian's lips swollen and red. One hand was indeed down his trousers, still stroking an impressive length. Blackwall shoved his cock into Sebastian's face and spent himself all over it. He looked good covered in come. Not at all like a prince. His breath hitched and he curled in on himself, then tensed, giving one last moan as he came himself.

“Thank you, Warden Blackwall,” he said, breathily.

Blackwall looked at what he had done, at the come-soaked boy, and fled.


End file.
